


Some Sort of Medicine

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 06:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5574859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scrubs are not supposed to be this attractive, Aramis thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Sort of Medicine

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr after a prompt for medical kink.

It’s about the third month in that Aramis has to admit to himself that’s attracted the male nurse he always catches out of the corner of his eye on the Thursdays he’s required to report to the hospital for check-ins and check-ups on his current mental state. It’s routine stuff. Nothing he hasn’t had to deal with before, and he is dealing in every sense of the word. It’s been a long struggle, Operation Savoy going south several months back and Aramis still wakes up with heart palpitations and cold sweats. He’s getting there, he thinks. He doesn’t have anything against hospitals – could have been a doctor or nurse, maybe, if his life had taken a different course – but the reason he’s here settles uncomfortably under his skin, wrapping up around his bones. He’d rather be here for a broken arm than a broken – well, everything. 

It’s his usual Thursday. He watches the attractive male nurse do his rounds. He always does. He likes the way his scrubs fit – which is ridiculous because scrubs are pretty much all-around not meant to be sexy. But it’s a nice color on him – a deep red. Just like every Thursday, the nurse rounds the corner, drops off a clipboard, picks up a second one, and scuffs his feet along the floor so that he makes enough sound that the people waiting will look up and see him before he suddenly just looms there. Aramis likes his broad shoulders. He also likes that as far as nurses go, he looks about as intimidating as they come – large and bracketed, his face firmed up in concentration. But Aramis has been watching him. He’s watched the way he kneels down in front of kids, all kind smiles and dimples, and how quickly he transforms. He’s gentle with women, with children, even with men who don’t withdraw too quickly from a man’s proximity to them. 

He’s heard him speak before, too, and there’s nothing sexier than his voice – how deep and reassuring it sounds. Aramis wants to wrap himself up in him. Really, it’s a wonder it took him three months to realize the man is attractive. Likely he knew from the start but just wasn’t ready to think about.

But then the thoughts of him bending Aramis over one of the waiting room chairs and fucking him in those scrubs starts to infiltrate his brain and Aramis is a good man, really, but he is only human. He shifts in his chair, drapes one leg over the other absently, casually, looking around the room and willing the minutes away before he can get his meeting over with and out of it. 

It’s a common enough meeting. Routine tests, then upstairs to psych to get his therapy over with. 

Twenty minutes later, when Aramis is waiting in the room – the sexy nurse comes in and Aramis nearly kicks him out in surprise as he scrambles to sit up straighter on the table. “Oh.” 

“Hi,” he greets, “I’m Porthos. I’ll be taking care of you today.” 

Aramis feels the heat rising in his cheeks and he is, quite shamefully, turned on just from being so close to him. Porthos. His name is Porthos. Now he has a name to put to the – incredibly, painfully attractive – face. 

“Aramis,” he offers, helplessly, before realizing that Porthos is holding his clipboard which undoubtedly has his information. “Uh. Guess you knew that.” 

Suddenly he’s unreasonably upset that Porthos is privy to too much about him – his past, the shameful way he’s handled his transition back to civilian life after Operation Savoy’s terrible outcome. He swallows down thickly. His hands aren’t shaking. They aren’t. He refuses. 

God. Scrubs should not be this hot. 

“Yeah, I did,” Porthos says, and seeing that tilt of his smile up close is devastating. “But good to meet you. How you feeling today?”

Aramis knows, logically, that Porthos is only asking because it’s his job and not any genuine interest, but he can still feel the blush climbing up his neck. 

His blood pressure, unsurprising, is far off course of his usual readings. He’s usually so blasé about being in the hospital that there’s hardly any anxiety. Now, he feels unrealistically warm as he lifts his shirt for Porthos to get his breathing, stethoscope pressed to his back, over his lungs. He takes a deep breath. 

“I’ve seen you around before,” Porthos says, conversationally enough, and Aramis’ heart spikes.

“Yeah?” Aramis breathes out. 

“Yeah,” Porthos agrees. There’s a long pause and then, “You know… I was in the military, too.”

“Were you?” Aramis asks, faintly, blushing as Porthos moves around to study him, hands lifting to touch his jaw, feeling out his lymph nodes. 

“Yeah,” Porthos says. “Got beat up pretty bad. Got an honorable discharge and everything, so had to pick up the pieces afterward.” 

He’s definitely read Aramis’ file. This at once bothers him and relieves him and he stares at Porthos for a very long time. 

“Anyway,” Porthos says, prodding gently at Aramis’ neck. “If you ever need to talk…” 

“Oh?” Aramis squeaks out. “You mean here?”

“Or not,” Porthos says with a shrug. He smiles a little. “We could get coffee later. My break’s in about an hour.” 

Again, Aramis is sure that Porthos is just being kind, for his job. But suddenly the urge to seize this opportunity won’t leave Aramis. Sexy Nurse in Red Scrubs is talking to him and touching him and Aramis is only sinfully human. 

“I’d – uh, actually,” Aramis begins. Then stops. Breathes out. Fortune favors the bold, after all: “Rather than coffee, I’d rather take you somewhere private so I can suck your brains out through your cock.” 

Porthos stares at him. Not in horror, Aramis is pleased to see. But he’s definitely staring and Aramis is definitely blushing. But damn it, he knows how to flirt, he’s flirted plenty in his life. It’s just a challenge to try to be sexy while sitting on a doctor’s table and – fuck, he really wants to be fucked over the patient table. 

Aramis makes himself smile through his own nervousness. Tilts his head, lets his hair fall the way he knows is attractive. “What do you say?” 

Porthos continues to stare and Aramis is half a second away from waffling when suddenly Porthos just starts laughing – looking shocked and, Aramis dares to hope, pleased. “What, are you serious?” 

“Like the plague,” Aramis says with a tilt of his head. 

Porthos’ laughter trails off and he stares at him. Stares at him some more. Looks down at his hands then up at Aramis. 

“Oh,” Porthos says. Then there’s silence. And then, blissfully, he says, “I know a place.” 

Fifteen minutes later, Aramis isn’t blowing Porthos like he wants – Porthos, turns out, is a gentleman and doesn’t want Aramis to hurt his knees on the hard floor of the hospital – but Porthos does press him up against the wall and makes out with him for a good twenty minutes. He’s painfully hard afterwards, gripping Porthos by his scrubs as Porthos gently presses a hand beneath Aramis’ jeans and jerks him off to a shaky, but pleasant, climax. 

Aramis goes home feeling far happier than he had earlier that day – with an attractive man’s number in his pocket and that boneless, happy feeling of a good fuck with the promise of more.


End file.
